


Pas de Trois

by greenbergsays



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, OT3, Serumed Peggy Carter, Super Soldier Serum, Universe Alteration, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 18:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5386736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenbergsays/pseuds/greenbergsays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“They did something to us,” Bucky spit out, angry. “They fuckin’ -- they <i>did</i> something and now we’re all -- we’re <i>wrong</i>.”</p><p>Gently, Peggy laid a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>“Not ‘wrong,’” she said softly. “Just different. This was a speculated side effect of the super soldier serum, too."</p><p>--</p><p>Or the one where both Peggy and Bucky received Zola's serum and discover that they're no longer affected by alcohol the way they should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pas de Trois

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xidaer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xidaer/gifts).



> Whose prompt was: "Peggy and Bucky getting into a drinking contest with long suffering Steve having to drag them home all sloshed. Established relationship."
> 
> I've had an idea in my head for an OT3 fic for a while now and that idea is this: Peggy being captured in Azzano with the 107th and being experimented on with Bucky.
> 
> And then, y'know. This happened. The title is a ballet term meaning, "dance for three." Seemed appropriate.

The front of the bar was crowded.

In the old days, Steve could slip through the crowds unnoticed with no problem at all. No one had any reason to pay attention to the scrawny, five-foot-nothing guy weaving between bodies; he’d been invisible and he’d hated it.

Now, he’d give anything for that power. With this new body of his -- so damn _tall_ and “built like a fuckin’ tank, Stevie, Jesus motherfuckin’ _Christ_ ,” as Bucky put it -- well. Going unnoticed was pretty much impossible now and weaving through the crowds, nearly so. Even trying to sidestep around people, skirting around groups, shimmying between bodies, he ended up bumping into a good many of them.

Soldiers threw annoyed glances at him and those looks were usually joined by drunken threats or unintelligible curses strung together in a completely nonsensical manner. Some of those words had no place being used together like that and _none_ of them belonged in a crowded public place so near to a lady’s ears, in Steve’s humble opinion.  

A few dames in the crowd seemed to share this opinion. As he ducked away, he heard them gasp and scoff and a peek over his shoulder revealed glares being thrown in the direction of the offensive behavior. If they were anything like this Peggy, the soldiers in question were about to get the walloping of their lives.

Ducking his head, Steve grinned at the thought.

Past the soldiers, he found himself in the middle of another gaggle of women. This group giggled and blushed, graciously accepting his apologies while openly appreciating his physique. He tried to get away from those looks as quickly as he’d escaped the soldiers but he wasn’t quite so lucky this time; at least two different sets of hands grabbed his ass before he was out of their reach.

As he breathed out a sigh of relief, he heard it: the sound of uproarious laughter. Cheers, groans, and slurred encouragement spanning two languages and at least four different accents. It was a ruckus that he recognized immediately, one that couldn’t be replicated by just any group of soldiers. No one else could imitate Dugan’s rumbling laughter, Dernier’s slurred cursing in French, or Falsworth’s easily distinguishable accent.

Following the racket, Steve stepped around a corner and through an archway separating rooms; the very back of the bar. It was dimmer here than in previous parts, the smoky atmosphere brought to light only by a faint orange glow from dirty lamps at the edges of the room. Tucked away in the far corner, the Commandos all stood crowded around a table.

The whole lot of them were drunk or well on their way there. Arms were slung over shoulders in the appearance of camaraderie but it was easy enough to see the way listed to the side, leaning into each other too heavily for it to be something so simple. They were counting on each other to stay upright.

As Steve approached, another round of laughter burst from the group, their heads thrown back and fingers tightening in shirt sleeves to keep from falling. There was no telling what had them all in such high spirits.

A card game, maybe?

He slid in between Morita and Falsworth, uncaring of who he brushed against for the first time since entering the bar. Morita’s hazy eyes widened comically as soon as they were able to focus on him.

Definitely not a card game, then.

At the center of their group, Bucky and Peggy sat across from each other at a two-man table. Between them was an empty bottle of _something_ and two glasses.

“You’re full o’shit, Carter!” Bucky slurred loudly as he reached for the bottle in question. “Hear me? Full of -- _shit_. The fuck happened t’our whiskey?”

He stared forlornly at the empty bottle, lips twisting into something dangerously close to a pout.

“I believe,” Peggy said primly. Her words were clearer than his but her accent had thickened considerably. “We drank it all.”

Bucky snorted, letting of the bottle neck. It rocked on the table, the sound barely audible above the cacophony of the bar.

“Fuckin’ shit,” he murmured, running a hand through his messy hair.

His entire appearance was disheveled, in fact; all rumpled, worn clothing and a few days’ worth of stubble on his chin. He hadn’t bothered worrying about his appearance since Steve had rescued them from that HYDRA base. Or perhaps it had started before that. Perhaps Bucky hadn’t worried about it since their last night together in New York, when Steve had let him walk away to dance the night away because he couldn’t leave well enough alone.

Whenever it started, it hardly mattered; it was still disconcerting to see. Their whole lives, Steve had watched Bucky take care of himself. It had always been the right clothes, the right shoes, the right style to his hair. Neither of them had very much growing up but what they _did_ have, Bucky took great care to preserve.

No matter how little they had, Bucky took pride in what was there. It was one of the things Steve had always admired about him; his ability to see a silver lining when Steve only saw the cloud.

In stark contrast, Peggy was the picture of elegance sitting across from him. Her blouse was clean and pressed and her hair perfectly curled as always, not one strand out of place. She sat poised on the edge of her seat, shoulders set back and spine rigid, hands folded neatly in her lap.

Only someone who’d known her before would be able to tell the differences. Steve saw it easily enough, even though they hadn’t known each other very long. He saw the gaunt hollow of her cheeks where they’d once been full and rosy; evidence that she’d lost too much weight, survived on too little food for too long. He saw, too, the puffy skin below her eyes. Make-up hid the dark circles well enough but Steve had seen her without it just this morning and so they was easier to spot.

She slept fitfully, if she slept at all.

Azzano had taken its toll on both of them and in ways that were hidden from most everyone. But Steve saw it. He catalogued every difference, noted every change quietly, hoarding that knowledge for himself so as not to upset them. He hadn’t known Peggy then as well as he did now but he saw the changes in her as well as he saw them in Bucky.

The two of them, they were so _alike_. Steve wondered if they even realized how alike they were. Their open, easy smiles turned brittle and sharp by war; by experiences he could hardly fathom. The hunted expression they sometimes shared; cracks in their facade, armor chinked in all the same places.

He had no idea what happened in Azzano. No idea what captivity did to them, what they really went through. Neither of them would talk about it and Steve would never make them. He knew that they leaned on each other, though. They relied on each other, clinging in a way that was very nearly child-like.

Even now, seemingly at ease and in a good mood, their knees knocked under the table, ankles pressed together in what Steve could only assume was reassurance.

“It seems you’ll have to owe me a shot,” Peggy said softly, giving Bucky a red-lipped smile.

There was something off about both it and her voice; something that wasn’t normal even for this new, shadowed Peggy Carter.

“Looks like,” Bucky replied and there was something off about him, too. Something not quite right in his voice and posture.

Steve frowned, glancing between them, taking them in again more slowly. He realized, with a slow-dawning clarity, that they were pretending. They weren't drunk at all.

His face twisted in confusion but he had no time to figure out why -- no time to do or say anything about it -- because Dugan suddenly slapped him on the back.

“Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour,” he said, laughing.

In unison, Peggy and Bucky turned to look at him.

Steve forgot all about their charade as soon as he became the center of their attention, the shift of their expressions giving him the sudden urge to bolt. Bucky’s eyes narrowed, cutting into him, while Peggy looked suddenly and wickedly amused.

“You reckless li’l shit,” Bucky growled, pointing an accusatory finger at him. He sounded considerably less drunk than he did a few seconds ago, confirming Steve’s suspicion. No one else seemed to notice. “You _jumped_ on a fuckin’ _grenade_?”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Pegs,” he whispered, horrified. “You didn’t.”

“I do apologize, darling,” she told him in a tone that said she wasn’t sorry at all. “But I don’t lose.”

“You see, Cap,” Dugan said, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “The mighty fine Agent Carter and our Sarge here, they’ve been playin’ a little game.”

Falsworth laughed out an, “indeed,” as the others scrambled to explain.

“One tells a story about Steve Rogers,” Jones said. Dernier followed up this statement with something fast in French, his drunkenness making it impossible for Steve to decipher even a word of it. “Yeah, like he said. The other determines if it’s true or not.”

“And loser has to drink,” Morita finished dryly. “Heard about the incident of -- what year was it, Sarge? ‘36?”

Steve sputtered, “Bucky!”

“Like that’s the worst thing you’ve ever done,” Bucky retorted angrily, making to get out of his chair. “Swear to Christ, outta kill you my -- _oof_.”

He stumbled right into Steve, clutching at his biceps to keep upright. The men laughed, clapping Bucky on the back and making good-natured jokes about his ability to walk while intoxicated. None of them saw Peggy trip him, her foot catching his under the table.

Steve saw it, though, and it made him even more curious. There was definitely something going on here. Something that they didn’t want to share with the Commandos. The idea of that - of a problem so big that they felt they couldn’t share with the _team_ \-- well. It made Steve want to panic, honestly.

Clearing his throat, he tried to sound more disapproving than worried as he said, “Think you’ve had enough, Buck. Let’s get you back to base ‘fore you start ralphin’ on everyone’s shoes.”

This proclamation was met with nothing but jeers and groans.

“C’mon, Cap,” Dugan needled. “You just got here!”

“Needs must, gentleman,” Peggy said. She smiled at Steve, reaching out a hand; already poised for him to take. “Would you mind escorting me as well, darling?”

Behind him, Jim snorted. “Think he’d mind you a lot less than Sarge,” he quipped.

“Oh,” Peggy laughed. “Shows how much you know.”

Unsurprisingly, this comment was unanimously glossed over.

Steve took her hand, helping her to her feet and then offering up his elbow for her to hold as they walked out. They must’ve made quite the picture, the three of them. Steve as a beacon in the crowd, drawing attention wherever he goes by virtue of his size alone. Bucky under one arm, leaning heavily against him and clutching at Steve’s jacket as he stumbled along. Peggy on his other side, leaning into him just enough to make her steps wobbly and unsteady; giving off the appearance of drunkenness.

They didn’t talk on their way to base and neither Peggy nor Bucky gave up their charade. It made sense, he supposed. It wouldn’t do for someone to see them acting perfectly normal on the same night that the Commandos witnessed their inebriated shenanigans. Better to have the same story told by everyone; poor, long-suffering Steve Rogers, dragging his best friend and the woman he was in love with back home after they’d had too much to drink.

Finally, when they were safely behind the closed, locked door of Steve’s private quarters, Steve was proven right. The charade fell away completely, Bucky clearing his throat as he straightened up and stepped away from Steve. He didn’t so much as glance Steve’s way before heading across the room to their bed and the rucksacks at the foot of it that held their clothes.

He shucked out of his jacket as he went, kicking out of his shoes in a way that told Steve he was either upset or angry. Quite possibly both.

Peggy, too, let go of him but at a considerably more sedate pace. She stepped out of her heels and followed Bucky while undoing her blouse.

Neither of them said a word.

After a few beats of silence, Steve finally asked, “Does anyone want to tell me what’s going on?”

Thankfully, they didn’t do him the disservice of acting clueless.

Pausing in their respective tasks, they turned to look at one another and an entire conversation  seemed to pass between them without either of them uttering a word. It warmed Steve as much as it surprised him.

Sure, he and Bucky could communicate like that. But they’d also known each other so long that neither of them could remember their first meeting. It was different to see it happening between him and Peggy. Technically, they hadn’t even known each other as long as Peggy and Steve had.

Whatever discussion took place between them, it was over in less than a minute. Sighing, Peggy turned to look at him.

Her blouse was unbuttoned all the way to waistband of her skirt and when she moved, he caught glimpses of her scars through the open material. They were nearly identical to the ones he knew to be on Bucky’s chest.

“It seems,” she said evenly, “that James and I are no longer able to get drunk.”

Bucky made a noise and it caused her to visibly pause, head tilting to the side.

“Well,” she amended. “I suppose that isn’t strictly true. We feel the effects of the alcohol but they’re mild and disappear quickly. I never felt anything more than a little woozy the whole night and that’s completely gone now.”

She looked to Bucky for confirmation and he nodded slowly, mouth set in a grim line. His fingers shook as he took off his shirt, tossing it aside. Steve spared another moment to look at the shirt, to recall every memory he had of Bucky in their drafty apartment, meticulously folding his clothes as he took them off each night.

“What do you think it means?” He asked, finally glancing away from the balled up shirt.

“They did something to us,” Bucky spit out, angry. “They fuckin’ -- they _did_ something and now we’re all -- we’re _wrong_.”

Gently, Peggy laid a hand on his shoulder. He tensed and closed his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his noise. His breath was loud and harsh between them, counting out the beats of silence. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at her again. Only then did she speak.

“Not ‘wrong,’” she said softly. “Just different. This was a speculated side effect of the super soldier serum, too. It’s very possible that Steve can’t get drunk, either.”

When they turned towards him, Steve felt very suddenly careless for not testing out his new physiology. He shrugged awkwardly.

“Haven’t tried yet,” he admitted.

Peggy smiled and it felt a little like forgiveness. “It’s something to experiment with,” she said kindly and _that_ felt like an admonishment.

Steve was too distracted to feel appropriately ashamed anymore. The mention of the serum had his mind churning, questioning, connecting possibilities. He heard Bucky’s words again: _they did something to us_.

“Do you think,” Steve asked hesitantly, “that, um. Do you think they --”

Peggy nodded. “It’s possible,” she said. “But there’s no way to know for sure. Not without divulging certain information and even then, there would be...tests.”

She tried to hide her reaction over such a thought but Steve saw it, anyways. Her fingers digging into her hip, knuckles turning white while her mouth twisted in remembered pain. The skin around her eyes tightened, fearful.

“I’m not,” Bucky said immediately. “I’m _not_ letting them --”

“No,” Peggy agreed, stepping close to him. “I won’t, either. That’s why this should stay between us.”

She looked at Steve and a moment later, Bucky did, too.

“Of course,” Steve said immediately. “I’m not gonna say anything.”

He’d seen them in that HYDRA facility. The two of them strapped to metal tables, facing each other, so close their feet nearly touched. Both of them hurting and delirious, unsure of what was reality and what wasn’t. He was the one that broke their bonds, that lifted them from those wretched tables and carried them out of that base.

He’d seen them after, too. He knew better than anyone else what that experience had done to them. He was the one that heard their nightmares, that saw their fear in the raw moments just after they woke up, before they could gather up their defenses again. He was the one that painstakingly catalogued their differences in the privacy of his mind, documenting each way that they were now different. Irrevocably changed.

There was nothing in this world that he wouldn’t do for them, either of them. _Nothing_. Keeping a secret like this was almost too easy.

Peggy smiled again but it was one of her sad smiles this time.

“I’m rather tired,” she said, putting a close to the subject. “I think sleep is in order after such an eventual evening. Don’t you?”

“You can stay? Both of you?”

Bucky snorted. “You expect us to walk outta here half-naked, Rogers?” He asked. His voice still wasn’t quite right but it was clear he was making the effort. “Now _that_ ’ll cause a scene.”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Steve complained but he smiled when he said it. He could pretend, too, as much as they needed.

“ _Punk_.”

They undressed in silence after that, climbing one after the other into a bed that hardly fit _Steve_ let alone anyone else. They made do, though, like they always did; Bucky pressing into his back while Peggy curled into his chest. Arms crossed over arms and heads reached for one another, fingers intertwining until it was difficult to tell where one person ended and the other began. Everything was _skin_ and _warmth_ , comfort desperately needed and freely given.

None of them had put on any night clothes, instead stripped down to their underclothes for the night. It was dangerous to sleep like this, all things considered. Not just together but in such a state of nudity, too. Skin contact seemed to help both Peggy and Bucky through the night, though, and that made it an acceptable risk as far as Steve Rogers was concerned.

He laid there, staring into the darkness as he mulled over what he’d been told and what it could mean.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised the quiet room.

He felt an answering squeeze from two different sets of hands, bodies pressing impossibly closer. Steve smiled. They’ll figure it out. They’ll figure it out and then everything will turn out alright. So long as they’re together, it has to.

It seemed that would be the last thing said for the evening, the last words between them before they fell asleep. But just as Steve began to relax, his mind drifting, he heard:

“A grenade, Rogers. A fuckin’ _grenade!”_

Peggy burst into laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory [Tumblr](http://greenbergsays.tumblr.com) plug.


End file.
